


Storm's Sworn, or, An Account of Brutal Murder in Good Fun

by ThaneZain



Series: it's a Fallen London/Minecraft Youtube au [16]
Category: DreamSMP, Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, Hermitcraft RPF, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Non-Graphic Violence, Temporary Character Death, also no this is not about the real people ao3 change your tags, also not a ship fic!!!!!!!!!!!, at least for these lads, bc I said so, ethos barely in it but im gonna tag him, its short, no I dont know how to write Tubbo OR Tommy im sorry, the storm contract is more like a...suggestion in my lore, they drop a rock on his head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:00:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28086573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThaneZain/pseuds/ThaneZain
Summary: Tubbo and Tommy enact the will of Storm by murdering one who has wronged him.
Relationships: Tubbo & Tommyinnit
Series: it's a Fallen London/Minecraft Youtube au [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717144
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Storm's Sworn, or, An Account of Brutal Murder in Good Fun

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, I did just write this because I'm sick and tired of DreamSMP angst and I wanted to doodle around with urchin lore, thank you for asking.

Tommy whistled as he shimmied up the drainpipe of a run-down apartment building in Spite. He nimbly hopped over the rampart as though he did it every day and approached a ramshackle shed that appeared to be on the verge of collapse. He opened the door without knocking and rapped his knuckles on an oversized washbasin that took up most of the cramped space. 

Tubbo’s head popped up out of the washbasin. His hair was ruffled and he squinted sleepily at Tommy. “I hate when you do that,” he complained.

“Rise and shine,” Tommy said with a grin, ruffling Tubbo’s hair. “We’ve got plans for today, remember?”

Tubbo rolled his eyes and clambered out of the tub. “It’s too _early_ for murder.”

“It’s after noon,” Tommy said. “Not that you can tell up here—“

“Time isn’t real,” Tubbo said with authority, dusting himself off from all the tub-dust he accumulated while sleeping. He stifled an impressive yawn. “Where are we going today?”

“Couple streets over from Merrigan’s. Delivery in ten. Come on.”

The two darted across the rooftops, waving to a few Knotted Sock members who were a few avenues east on the steeple of St. Fiacre’s. The delivery urchins were on the ground with a wheelbarrow full of huge chunks of sphinxstone. Tubbo climbed down the fire escape as the others looped a rope snugly around one of the chunks of stone and tossed it up to Tubbo, who in turn scrambled back up to hand it to Tommy.

Sphinxstone, in all its mysticism and importance, was still stone. It was heavy as sin, and Tommy let out an incessant stream of curses as he and Tubbo hauled the offending mineral up onto the roof.

“Why can’t we just use some of this roof debris?” Tubbo asked, kicking at a shard of brick. “The guy still gets dead.”

“If you want to go against the Wind that’s fine with me,” Tommy said, grunting as he yanked the dripping rock over the rampart. Part of it was smooth and curved like it had been part of a statue, and the rest was rough and marred with chisel marks. It was constantly leaking some sort of salty liquid and it left damp marks on Tommy’s and Tubbo’s clothes. It was a miracle it didn’t slip out from the makeshift harness.

Luckily, the poor urchins who had to deliver the stone had brought it directly to the place they were going to drop it from, a tiny alleyway that the target apparently frequented on a regular enough schedule.

“The target’s supposed to be coming down here in—“ Tommy pulled an imaginary watch from his holey pocket. “Five minutes.” 

Sure enough, roughly five minutes later, a nautical-looking man wearing a heavy scarf came strolling around the corner. He had a jaunty step and was wearing a flat captain’s cap.

“Fool,” Tommy said. “Not even wearing an iron hat.”

“I know right?” Tubbo said with a snort. “He deserves this.”

They carefully balanced the rock on the edge of the roof, waiting for the man to be close enough, and then just…let gravity do the rest.

The rock fell soundlessly and met its target with a sickening crunch. The man flopped to the ground and the rock splashily shattered into large, wet chunks. 

“Yes!” Tommy cried and Tubbo jumped up and down in victory. “Direct hit!” The man didn’t move, and probably wouldn’t for at least a half a day unless somebody found him. There was a swift rush of wind that could either have been lost from the Surface or a message from Storm that they had done right.

“Do you ever feel guilty about this?” Tommy asked, staring down at the man’s splayed limbs, and Tubbo shook his head gleefully.

“He angered Storm! Plus, he’ll be fine in a couple days,” Tubbo said. “And this is so much more fun than just shooting him. With a gun.”

“Yeah, but that’s fun too,” Tommy said, coiling up the rope they’d use to drag the stone onto the roof. It was high quality, braided tight. The stone-deliverers weren’t getting it back.

“I guess,” Tubbo said with a shrug. “Got any plans other than this?”

“I’m going to go harass Halo, I heard he’s got business in the Flit today,” Tommy said with a fiendish grin. Usually harassing devils was the most extreme of bad ideas, but Halo was a special case. “What about you?”

“Oh! Yeah! I’ve got to go rob Fundy’s apartment,” Tubbo said, leaping to his feet. “Like, now. Before he gets home. Have fun in the Flit!” He gave Tommy a cheery wave and scampered off towards Veilgarden.

Tommy laughed. Fundy had recently gotten too old for the roofs so Tubbo had been gradually nicking random things from his new apartment to taunt him. Who cared about such petty things as a _job_ and an _apartment_ when you could climb the tallest buildings in London and scrape your head against the sky?

Fundy wasn’t officially an urchin, hadn’t been called by Storm, and lived with his dad….occasionally.

Tommy, on the other hand, remembered Storm calling him vividly. Phil had a hard enough time wrangling his honey addict and Black Ribboner sons, so Tommy had retreated to the rooftops. After about a year Slivvy had approached him after a series of extremely strange dreams. He wasn’t a member of any particular gang, so he wasn’t given any specific rules he had to live by. Still, he wouldn’t have to live in Phil’s spare room any more, which was a blessing. It reeked of fish.

For instance, some urchins weren’t allowed to leave the rooftops until they were too old to be urchins any more, their contract with Storm was so strict. Tommy, on the other hand, liked to think that he and Storm had a more…casual relationship. He was allowed to touch the ground, occasionally, and he dropped rocks on the people who’d pissed Storm off. Win-win!

Halo wouldn’t be venturing into the Flit for another few hours, so Tommy had some time to slouch around. He took a seat on a mostly-disused chimney and stared up at the false-stars.

Storm was up there, supposedly. Somewhere.

Tommy snorted. It was probably boring to be a god. I mean hey, he didn’t even get to drop his own rocks on his enemies!

* * *

Etho woke with a splitting headache. He was lying in a puddle of salty water and when he raised a hand to his head he found a lump the size of a goose egg.

Damn. He really, really shouldn’t have pushed his luck that time when out at zee. At least it was only the one time he visited the Chelonate.

Oh well. At least he hadn’t acquired _Salt's_ curse.


End file.
